


Taking Winterfell's Prizes

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Deception, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gore, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Domeric Bolton/Robb Stark, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Multi, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Revenge, Spitroasting, The Author Regrets Nothing, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: Theon Greyjoy meets a strange singer while visiting Ros.





	Taking Winterfell's Prizes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quilljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/gifts).



> I ran with the request to do something edgy and subtly manipulative. Shout out to justmyluckmk on tumblr for helping me with editing, brainstorming, and enthusiasm.
> 
> Please note I have chosen not to use warnings and have not tagged everything to maintain suspense.

Ros and the girls seemed in good spirits when Theon arrived. He’d wheedled the coin he needed from Robb— he certainly wouldn’t have asked Eddard Stark— and as usual, like a good friend, Robb had indulged him. Getting Robb to come with him would be harder, but Robb was always on about honor and what his mother would think if he fathered a bastard. More fun for Theon then. Ironborn didn’t get caught up with that.

A singer sat with a few of the girls, including Ros, by the hearth with a lute in hand. He had dark hair, and similarly dark clothes. Probably a Northerner. He didn’t seem to be playing any particular song Theon could recognize, but rather idly picking at notes.

“Here’s my Prince come to take me away,” she greeted him. She was dressed in dark green, her face flushed from the fire.

“Evening Ros! Ladies!” Theon made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm.

One of the girls, slender with long dark hair and a bit too young and flat chested looking for Theon, laughed at something the singer said to him, their eyes both on a Theon.

Theon’s chest tightened with anger.

“What was that?” He called out, loud enough that the attention of the room shifted to their exchange.

The singer laughed softly and looked up at him. He was  perhaps a year or so older than Theon if not the same age, but his eyes were pale with an eerie oldness that reminded him of Eddard. He smiled and cleared his throat.

“I asked her if you worked here,” he explained gingerly placing the lute in the girl’s hands. He rose without giving her a second glance. “I’d heard Eddard Stark, kept an Ironborn prince as a whore. Shared him with his son.”

Theon strode up to the young man, his brows furrowed. It wasn’t the first time such things had been said, but there was no reason for him to tolerate it; he’d come planning a pleasant evening.

“Say that again and you’ll regret it, beggar. That’s what you do essentially isn’t it?”

Ros’ hand touched his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

“A shame. Suck a few cocks, and you could pay our friend Ros here without dipping into Lord Stark’s pockets. You’re pretty enough for it.”

Theon lunged at the singer, fist raised, but the Northerner pivoted and avoided Theon with some finesse.

“I’m a bit of a pugilist! I should have told you,” the singer sighed. He kicked at something and Theon’s knees pushed forward. It didn’t hurt much but the following kick to the chest did and Theon was soon on his back with the man’s weight focused into a boot that pressed down on Theon’s sternum. They were good leather and clearly well cared for. He could perhaps roll the man off him, but Theon had now noticed the dagger and sword he had at his waist while Theon had come unarmed.

The singer leaned closer to him. He had a handsome angular face and a slight amount of stubble about his chin and neck.

“Let me buy you dinner, Greyjoy. Maybe a woman too. You can save old Ned’s money for jewelry… or whatever else brings your heart delight. Consider it an apology.”

The singer tentatively lifted his weight, his hand clasped around the pommel of his sword.

“I accept.”

If the man knew his place in apologizing what else could he ask for.

 

Domeric watched as Theon scarfed down a chicken leg with vigor. He gesticulated with it on occasion, a little bit of skin or meat flapping with the motion. Theon had cleared most of the wine he’d poured for him, father’s bottle he’d brought along, and it showed in his merriment. One arm was clasped around Ros, giving the far underside of her breasts intermittent squeezes.

He’d considered drawing Theon out into the woods and just having his way there. He could imagine Theon breathing hard in fear, perhaps excitement. He’d already looked so promising on the floor, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Doing this all here would be easier though, and he had to earn the girl’s trust too.

Theon ate with the imprecision of a rascal, rather than the sloppy manners his usual low born guests had. His other boys often had to be coaxed into eating though, uncertain if his generosity came with a price. They were smarter than Theon by far. Hungrier too.

Theon had only half picked at the browned potatoes on his plate. Ros’ hand was fiddling with the strings of his tunic. Domeric frowned.

“You haven’t finished your plate.”

“I’ve been a little busy, mate,” Theon answered with a cocky grin. Ros batted at his hands as he tried to pinch at her again. “That rhymed! And you’re the singer, ha!”

“Well her time isn’t free. Finish your dinner and you can find out,” Domeric insisted. He stuck one of the potatoes with his fork and held it out emphatically for Theon.

“I’m only here because your handsome new friend here paid me for it. Ought to do what he says,” Ros teased, giving Theon’s thigh a squeeze.

Domeric tapped a finger against his seat below the table. Hopefully this wouldn’t activate his tenacious streak again. Theon looked at the bit of potato thoughtfully then back at Ros.

On his lower stakes hunts this was his favorite moment. Watching those pretty faced scrawny little things he found decide what they wanted. To eat their fill and submit to him, both at the table and in the private pleasures to come.

“Alright, alright. But I get first go,” Theon sighed before taking a bite from Domeric’s extended fork. His throat bulged nicely as he swallowed. Ros playfully lifted another piece to his lips.

That was a good little prince. He’d have to take a trophy of their time together. He was older than the others, but more importantly, Theon could never be a brother to him, even in play, like his sweet buried memories. To hear the word cross his lips would be foolish at best.

At the end of the day, only blood made brothers. This is why the Redforts, despite all his affections, could never truly love Domeric in return. All his games were just that, a farce. In time though, perhaps soon after tonight, father would see how his solitude broke his heart and the things he would do to remedy it.

As Theon scarfed down the rest of his plate, the reality of Domeric’s plan finally set in. Theon sucked the grease from one of his fingers before giving another to Ros, who hummed flirtatiously as her lips lingered against Theon’s knuckles.

The thrill of the fight earlier had warmed his cock, but after this there would be no going back from anything. The flush of his pleasure started in his stomach, while his groin felt heavy with both blood and want. The night would have plenty of both.

Ros and Theon's flirtations devolved into sloppy kissing and some of Domeric's excitement flagged. He liked red hair on women as well, but it would be far more exciting to watch him kiss Robb Stark. Ros was a fine looking woman, Domeric could appreciate that, but it simply didn't excite him the way imagining their fuzzy lips and angular jaw lines. Even if Robb was only a quarter as pretty as people said, he'd still be quite the trophy to make his own.

Theon tweaked at her nipples enthusiastically as she drew back from the kiss. Domeric wondered if Theon had actually ever made her climax. He ought to tonight, just to make a point of it.

"I suppose we'll need the bigger bed," Ros sighed, winking at Domeric. Theon stood with a slight wobble, Ros pulling him towards the stairs. As they headed off Domeric made a quick survey of the room. They were the only patrons.

"There's another bottle of wine beneath the table. The rest of you are welcome to it, as I'm sure too much more and our Captain won't be able to raise his sails," Domeric offered flatly.

Theon glowered and aggressively squeezed the flesh of Ros' left buttock.

"I'm Ironborn all over. Cock, shaft, balls, and alls," Theon snorted. 

The bedroom was more or less what Domeric had imagined, candles, a side table covered in lotions and oils, and a roomy bed. He'd deflowered enough serving boys and grooms to know what to expect. There was a certain charm to how despite their location they never expected they'd be the ones for sale. Broken in boys didn't interest him unless it was his own handiwork. 

Theon and Ros fell to the bed immediately, Theon tugging at her sleeves impractically as she unlaced her bodice. As embarrassing as it was, it was endearing as well. As the layers of their clothes fell away, Domeric gained a better understanding of what he was in store for that night. Theon was lean and handsome, with strong arms and shoulders from his archery practice. He was smoother-skinned than the Northern boys Domeric had enjoyed, but he didn't have the same lighter complexion as his Southern diversions either. If he wasn't so easily beguiled he could likely stand his own in a fight. Without her bodice, Ros' breasts hung down against her bare chest, but Domeric rather preferred her this way. She was good natured with a natural beauty and charm he liked better than the coy persona her work required. If, or really when, he married, he'd like a woman with her level of wit. This was all a bit of a pity, and he couldn't help but wonder if born as a lady her quick wit would be inherent, or came as a product of the life she lead? What was inherent or trained in any of them?

Domeric shook his head. He was being far too sentimental. What would father think? That was a funny question. Would he approve of any of this? Theon's thighs were tight and though not shapely, pleasing to watch, as he grappled his way on top of Ros. Domeric shrugged and hung his cloak over the nearby table. None of this would solve his loneliness, but there'd be pleasure in it none the less, what else mattered?

"You ever share a woman's back and mouth, Greyjoy?" he asked, not expecting an answer. He'd be free to fuck her as a wife since she'd certainly bare no bastard, and he was curious to try. 

Theon was yet to enter her, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh as Ros kissed and sucked at his neck. Domeric appreciatively eyed the flexing of his ass as he rubbed against her, his cock finally responding again. The melancholy in him faded. How rare and delightful his sanguine moods were. This was who he was supposed to be, poised between the phlegmatic nature of his father and the future his house had long deserved. Robb Stark had two full brothers, a half-brother, and a pretty captive to call his own. Domeric would take that all from him, starting with Theon.

"Fuck her mouth, and leave her ass in the air." 

Commanding came naturally to him. Theon looked over at him skeptically.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"The one in the room with a sword and money. You afraid she'll like my cock better than yours?"

Ros laughed at that, and nudged Theon to comply.   
  
"Come here, and let me kiss you, singer. You've given me quite the bit of coin, why not a name to call?"

Theon groaned as she curled her hand around the base of his cock. Domeric narrowed his eyes. She was far smarter than Theon was. A commoner wouldn't have the kind of money he'd spent. Then of course, if she suspected true danger, she may not have offered herself so obviously.

"Domeric. My friends call me, Dom, if it pleases you," he answered, beginning to shed his clothes as well. He'd borrowed them from one of the stable boys. Borrowed wasn't quite the word for what he'd done, but he was lord there.

"We aren't friends yet, are we?" she teased. Theon's chest began to rise and fall more rapidly as she placed a kiss on his lower stomach.

"Hurry up with it. I'm not here for conversation," Theon snapped.

"If you insist," Ros sighed. So much for their kiss.

The muscles of Theon's stomach fluttered handsomely as Ros lowered her head down to the tip of his cock. Domeric was larger than him, but Theon was yet to notice, wrapped up in the pleasure of Ros's tongue and mouth. She swiveled her hips slowly as Domeric approached her. She wasn't a Stark, but a warm wet place was a warm wet place, and her red hair in Theon's fingers brought to mind skewering Robb Stark between their bodies. Of course he could save the Stark boy for father, or if he'd had brothers the four of them could each take a turn fucking him in the yards. Domeric paused as her head dipped further down the length of Theon's cock, sliding his dagger beneath the bed, his two lovers distracted. 

"That's what you know I like," Theon muttered, tugging at her hair and bucking his hips. This was really how he thought his life best lived. Domeric tentatively pressed his cock against the curve of Ros' ass, and began by reaching for the nub between her lower lips.

"He ever stroke you here?" he asked. "I want it to be good for you."

Ros made an amused noise as she bobbed back and forth. Domeric watched Theon's face as he huffed with pleasure and held Ros in place at the base of his length. The whole thing looked rather undignified, but that was the point of sex after all. He wanted Theon vulnerable and malleable, ready to open himself entirely to Domeric's pleasure, in some ways more literally than others. This would be a chance to try something new, something more daring. He began to rotate his fingers slowly and tentatively, feeling for what Ros responded to with further murmurs around Theon's cock.

Entering her at the correct angle was more complicated than he expected. People always discussed it as if it were an easy fit. Theon's cock, like most men outside Domeric's family, was uncut, whereas Domeric had been marked a man of House Bolton by experiencing his own flaying of sorts as a babe. As the tip of his member first entered her the tightness was pleasant, it was a more giving experience than the snug fit of his play brothers, but the thought of his later pleasure inside Theon or perhaps even Robb Stark himself made it tolerable.

Ros adjusted her position so that the three of them fit together more naturally, and Domeric in response pressed himself as deeply as he could inside her. She seemed to like the combination of the depth of his penetration and the slow rocking of his fingers outside her.

"How do you like it, Greyjoy? Like knowing that I'm fucking her deeper onto your cock?" Domeric asked. Theon nodded emphatically.

"It's good. I can feel her throat flexing. Taking it nice and deep," he grunted.

"You're not jealous are you?" Domeric continued, choosing not to specify of who. "I bet you'd like a slow deep fuck, wouldn't you?"

Theon nodded again, thrashing slightly with pleasure. He seemed close to climax. Domeric considered beginning to play his hand.

"So would you rather have your cock inside Robb Stark or his inside you?" he teased, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Theon looked startled.

"What?"

"I said, would you rather fuck Robb Stark or get on your stomach for him? You must want him to fuck you, otherwise you would have had at that virgin ass of his by now, no?"

He'd often wondered if the eldest Stark's red hair and freckles continued onto his thighs and bottom. He'd idly fantasized about nibbling and sucking at his legs till the sweet lordling begged to be fucked.

"I... That's not it," Theon protested. He seemed uncomfortable, but he wasn't stopping Ros either.

"Oh? It's because you're weak." He wouldn't be able to climax inside Ros, nor did he particularly want to, but this was what he'd been after. His cock ached for more stimulation, and the pounding of his heart had kicked up. He felt alive. "You're weak, and you're scared of Eddard Stark. I knocked you to the floor because of it, and I'm going to fuck and claim you like you'll never have the chance with Robb."

Ros seemed unmoved by this. She had likely suspected this about Theon for a long time as it was in her best interest to spot the nature of men's desires before they knew themselves.

Domeric slowed his thrusting and gave Ros an affectionate squeeze on the rear.

"I'm the one paying, and he's the one who ought to be pleasuring us both. Sit across his face and teach him how to use his tongue."

If she refused to comply he'd use the knife early, though he wanted to prolong the game he had planned.

Ros drew back slowly and wiped her mouth, Domeric's cock leaving her with more ease than entering as well. Theon ought to be grateful she'd slickened him a bit.

As Ros moved to mount Theon's face he batted at her a bit, only for her to grab his wrists. The two of them stayed like this for a moment. Perhaps she was sick of his arrogance.

"Come now, love. Your cock's still hard, and I think you're long overdue for a taste of my cunny," she teased. "Some men pay more to try it." 

Theon resigned and Ros loosened her hold, guiding his hands onto her hips as she knelt atop him. Domeric had kept himself erect by stroking himself.

"Do you have anything on the bedside to make it easier for him?" Domeric asked. Theon had surely fucked Ros with little more than his spit plenty of times, but it'd make it more pleasant for Domeric as well.

Ros passed Domeric one of the oils and he took to lubricating himself. He'd tried spit and blood before and neither had been as enjoyable as they seemed in conception. There will still plenty of openings to be had as well, so it was best to keep himself from chafing. He suspected he'd like the second one he'd planned on Theon more, as he couldn't be sure the prince was a virgin. 

Ros wiggled slightly atop Theon's face, and he was probably enjoying watching the motion carry through her breasts, though Domeric couldn't understand the appeal. Domeric drew the knife he had stored from underneath the bed and placed it behind him for when the mood struck.

Domeric placed a soft kiss on Theon's knee. He was yet to truly enjoy Theon's body and slowly drew his tongue across the length of his legs. He was well toned though not bulky by any means. His body was that of an emerging man's as opposed to the scrawny little bird's legs of his less ripened conquests. The fuzz of his thighs grew thicker as Domeric approached his groin, and Domeric gave each thigh an appreciative squeeze as he spread Theon's legs.

"This will hurt a bit, but I know you'll come to like it. Perhaps you'll learn to feel for poor Ros," Domeric jested. It would hurt far more than either of them knew, though less for Ros out of pity. She'd done Domeric no wrong, and the thought of her suffering didn't excite him. With boys he dwelled on the color and feel of their blood or the way the skin and flesh would flap when cut open, but Ros he'd rather end her swiftly and fairly. If Eddard Stark were the one to end Theon's life it would probably be swift and fair, but Domeric was no Stark.

Fucking boys on their back took some positioning as well, but Domeric found the pay off much sweeter. He let out a groan as he worked his way past the tension of Theon's body attempting to force him out. He liked the fight of it, knowing Theon's body would give way to him. Theon let out a weak whine and arched his stomach, Ros gasping in response to his movement. 

If Theon had been fucked before it certainly wasn't recently or by someone with the size Domeric had. He could see Theon's grip on Ros had tightened, and he could feel Theon's legs shaking as he held them aloft. He also finally had a good view of the smooth skin of Theon's stomach, and the dark trail of hair that lead to where his erect cock lay against his stomach. It looked oddly delicate and vulnerable, such a small sensitive part to wield such power over a man's behaviors.

"Maybe when we're done here, I could go pay Robb a visit," Domeric sighed. Theon murmured in agreement. "Show him what a mess I've made of you, and see which of you sucks cock better."

 

Theon wasn't sure how any of this had gotten to where it had. Here he was drunk with a mouth full of cunt and a cock up his ass. He'd only ever imagined being with Robb, and for all his bravado that had been a different sort of fantasy. He'd been the one in Domeric's place, confident and strong, rather than made a whore of. He'd drank the man's wine and taken his cock like a maiden falling for a hedge knight. He liked the way it felt though, like he was worth something to someone, and if another man was what it took to make Robb notice him, might it not be worth it? With all the humiliation he'd suffered in life wasn't it worth a little more to finally have Robb notice how he felt?

Domeric was cruel, but he was right. Robb would be the lord in Winterfell one day and he'd no longer have to fear Eddard Stark's justice. The two of them could lay together as equals, and he could finally put his years of want to use. He wanted Robb urgently and deeply, as something more than the brotherhood they claimed by words.

Ros tasted bitter and tangy, and focusing on her gratification kept him from feeling the weight of his shame too strongly. He always thought that if he treated her badly that was part of why he gave her coin. She wasn't a rockwife and she knew that. The mainland houses were odd and inconsistent in how they treated their wives and women. Was it not better to tell a woman she was little to you as opposed to saying one thing and doing another?

His cock began to leak as Domeric rocked inside him. It hurt as he promised, but each stroke made him flex internally in a way that made his shaft feel hot and heavy. The thought of watching Robb take each of their cocks between his lips excited him further, perhaps kissing his rosy plump lips before taking a turn on each of them himself. He tried imagining what Robb would taste of, he suspected he and Ros might not taste that different, but he'd smell more like himself. He tried trailing his tongue down closer to her entrance then moved back up to sucking on the bud of her clitoris, which she seemed to like the best.

 

"Just a little more, Theon. You've been such a good boy for me," Ros urged. Domeric frowned. He'd shared his prize enough. If he had to enter Theon again so be it, but he'd rather finish more fully inside him anyway.

Domeric released Theon's legs and took the knife from behind him. With Ros' back to him it was easy to yank her towards him, and slit her throat unchallenged. Theon unsurprisingly screamed in shock as Ros' body fell aside. With a swift backhand Theon was quiet again, but just to be sure Domeric thrust his blade into the flesh of his stomach and cut upwards. It was all happening so quickly, that he scarcely could savor the moment, but that's how his kills always seemed to be, ecstatic and frenzied, but over too soon. 

Theon let out a weak gasp that sent pleasurable chills through Domeric's body. Domeric now cut across the initial wound, marking a small cross in Theon's stomach.

"You're going to belong entirely to me now, and when I'm done I'll leave you for Robb to find," Domeric whispered, placing a kiss just above the wound. Ros' eyes had glazed just as Theon's were beginning to.

Domeric started by placing two fingers inside. Blood flowed freely as he made his way past the muscle. His eyes rolled back a bit at how perfectly Theon fit him. He was the sticky bit of relief he'd been looking for all this time. Domeric's breath hitched in his chest as he worked deeper. The wet sounds alone, maddened his lust and clouded his thinking, Theon was his now and no one else could have him. As he moved to slide his cock into place he bit down gently at his own lip. Theon was even prettier like this, his jaw slackened and limbs loose.

As he entered Theon's chest cavity his pulse had already slowed, but the wound was still hot and slick. He would climax too soon like this, but he didn't want to stop either. He spent so much of his life practicing self-control. Surrounded by lean stable boys, and doe-eyed wine pourers, father ought to recognize his restraint in not having his way with them already. He'd be good with Robb though, he'd keep him alive for a few days, maybe even convince father to try him once or twice. Father was the one always talking about how the Starks were to blame for their woes.

He wished he could be there when Robb saw Theon's body. Found him cut open and filled with seed like the token of war he was. This was enough for now though. He had a long night ahead of him still. Anyone who hadn't drunk the wine would have to be finished by sword. Shame they kept so few boys around.

Domeric thrust faster. He'd cut Theon's pretty head from his shoulders and bind his body to the Weirwood, as beheading was his fate from the start. Eddard Stark knew this, and Robb would learn it well.

Domeric grunted repeatedly as he came. Touching himself never matched the intensity of his excursions and this had been one of his best by far. Panting and bloodied, he withdrew from Theon slowly. What a mess he'd made of them both. If he had time he'd give Ros a burial, but time was of the essence. If other clients appeared things would grow complicated.

Domeric re-dressed slowly, his limbs still tingling. He'd kill the remaining witnesses then scale the wall to the grove. When he returned to the Dreadfort he'd send a raven with no seal to Balon Greyjoy that someone had slain his son. The Starks and the Ironborn would be at war again, and their hold on the North would weaken. He and father could take Winterfell as their ancestors' had, and someday he would rise to Warden of the North.

 

When Theon Greyjoy had not returned, Eddard went to the Weirwood to contemplate where the boy would have gone to. He found his answer. 

Theon's head faced the Weirwood tree, his bloody face a mirror to the one before him. Slightly higher in the branches the rest of Theon had been bound, spread limbed and naked except for the tattered remains of the house sigil he wore on his doublet, bound across his chest. His stomach had been cut open wide and ravens had taken to pecking at his entrails by the roots of the tree. Between his legs was a bloody mess and to Eddard's horror, the castrated member lay amongst his innards. He would call Rodrik Cassel to help cut him down. This was not just a murder, but the beginning of war. Theon Greyjoy was dead and winter was coming.


End file.
